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Early in life, Alicia wrapped her fingers around a pencil, put lead to note paper and began stringing words together in an effort to form perfect sentences that sparkled like glistening glass beads on a necklace. One word, two words, three - a sentence. One sentence connected to another - a paragraph, four. The thrill of paragraph after paragraph blending (gently or with great power) into a page, a chapter, a manuscript.

Posts Tagged ‘war’

I have missed What Pegman Saw, so am dipping my toe into the 150-word waters of a story about North Coast, Finland. Thanks, Pegman!!!

We inhabit a land of seagrass and women who wear armor.
Our children are strong. Our men brave.
Together we have lived upon these shores for one thousand years
and will defend it to the death.

At night the polar skies glow with fox-fire.
The days glisten with sunshine and laughter.
Our fields produce crops you have never heard of,
and we will never share.
The forests surrounding our homes
are alive with bear and lynx.
They do not frighten us,
for they are here to serve.

So, even though you have three times our number of sailing ships,
filled with twice as many soldiers armed with weapons of hammered steel,
do not think, for one moment,
you have the slightest chance of conquering our people.

For we will rise up in a fury so strong
the hearts of your bravest men will tremble.
Send your army.
We are here.
Waiting.

This week, Pegman transported us to Peleliu, a WW II battlefield. Thanks for an inspiring place to write! I’ve never heard of this island or its history. Ah, so much to learn, so little time. (P.S. “Urasai” means “Shut Up”)

“I don’t know who these kids think they are! Trash on the altar!”
“Kozue, they mean no harm.”
“Hush! You know nothing! They come, laugh at the statues, fornicate on the steps, play loud music and dance! They show no respect for those who died here.”
Realizing his wife will drone on for a very long time, Hideshi allows her words to fade to the far recesses of his mind even as unwelcome memories float before his eyes: Blood Tears Broken limbs Missing limbs. And into his ears: Screams Threats Commands Gunfire Gunfire Gunfire rat-a-tat-tat. Over and over and over. And the smell of death: Festering wounds Urine Excrement Blood.
Ah, to have memories of this ungodly battlefield replaced by thoughts of beautiful young girls making love with curious boys, the smell of perfume, the scent of too much aftershave, the glorious sound of laughter, music, and sighs . . .
“Kozue! Urusai!”

The jpg name of this thought-provoking picture is Antiques Along the Mohawk, making this week’s prompt twice as interesting. Thanks to Rochelle for taking the picture and posting it for the Friday Fictioneers writing prompt. Below is my 100 word submission.

10:32 p.m. – The sound of warning bells rolls across the water. Sybil wakes.
10:33 p.m. – She rises, draws on her blue velvet robe and peers through the grease-coated window of her prison, sees nothing but the light of the full moon sparking off the waves. She waits.
10:59 p.m. – Two ships, one large, one small sail around the bend, skysails snapping.
11:06 p.m. – Without hesitation the yellow guardsmen split the night with shouts and cannonballs, smoke and ash and fear.
11:35 p.m. – Tears glisten on Sybil’s cheeks as she watches both ships sink below the surface, dragging her Daniel to the bottom of the sea.